Beauty

Who says that fictions only and false hair

Full many a gem of purest ray serene,

The very pink of perfection.

Kennst du das Land, wo die Zitronen blühn?

She may very well pass for forty-three

There’s a fascination frantic

Light (God’s eldest daughter) is a principal beauty in building.

The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,

Fairest Isle, all isles excelling.

No spring, nor summer beauty hath such grace,

Slowly, silently, now the moon

the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls

The Stately Homes of England,

And she was fayr as is the rose in May.

And theron heng a brooch of gold ful sheene,

She walks in beauty, like the night

See one promontory (said Socrates of old), one mountain, one sea, one river, and see all.

O, my Luve’s like a red, red rose

O saw ye bonnie Lesley,

O lyric Love, half-angel and half-bird.

All her hair

She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.

Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er

That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,